


The Tender Trap

by Dragonie



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Awkward Crush, Despite That Last Tag It's Not Actually Very Kinky, Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Fluff, Kink Meme, Scandalous Clothed Body Contact Lasting Longer Than .03 Seconds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 17:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10470162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonie/pseuds/Dragonie
Summary: Courier Six, hero of the NCR, walker of the Mojave, shining hope of New Vegas, has a crush - and she is not very good at hiding it.Written for a prompt on the New Fallout Kink Meme!





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic, as you'll see, features a rather dorkier iteration of Courier Jane than "At the End of the Road," and it's... really not part of that story at all, haha. This was written for a prompt on the New Fallout Kink Meme requesting a Courier with an awkward, poorly-hidden crush on Ulysses. It's quite different to my previous fic, but nevertheless, I hope you like it!

There was a spring in Jane’s step as she walked the road to the Divide, one that some hypothetical onlooker might have found curious. After all, at the end of that road lay an irradiated ruin filled with Deathclaws and Tunnelers; why would anyone possibly be excited to go _there_? For Jane, however, it wasn’t the “where” but the “whom” to which she looked forward: to a lonely man on a lonely cliff at the end of the goddamn world.

                Ulysses – her former adversary, now strange comrade – sat in his usual spot on the rocks, silhouetted against the stormy sky. As always, her heart raced just a little bit faster at the sight of him.

                Not for the first time, Jane wondered if having a crush on a man who once wanted you dead wasn’t kind of pitiful, if not downright insane. She suspected Arcade would have Something to Say on the matter, which was probably why she hadn’t discussed it with him. Or… anyone else, really. Well, it was hardly her fault Ulysses was so fascinating. Or attractive. Or that his voice was so nice; God, that _voice_ …

                …Anyway.

                “Courier.” He gave a brief nod of acknowledgement as she approached him. She wished he’d say her goddamn _name_ for once; it wasn’t as if he didn’t know it. Then again, to hear it from his lips, in his voice… well, she might’ve had difficulty keeping her composure.

                “Hey, Ulysses,” she nodded back with a grin, hoping to God none of her thoughts showed on her face.

                “Wasn’t long ago, you last walked this road,” he observed, watching her as she set pack and rifle down on the cliff top. Jane hesitated, her internal monologue bursting into a chorus of _shit shit shit he knows oh shit_ which she struggled to silence.

                “Oh, uh, was it?” she offered weakly. “Feels like longer. Guess the days’ve been pretty busy, y’know, what with the Dam an’ all.”

                _Great. Fucking_ nailed _it. Where’s that ol’ silver tongue now, Janey girl?_

She wasn’t usually like this. Hell, back in Vegas she had quite the reputation as a smooth talker – she’d defused more than once tense situation in her day – but something about Ulysses had her acting like a moonstruck teenager whenever he was near. Hard to tell when it started; she just noticed one day that she thought about him a lot, missed him when she was away, and before she knew it, she was turning into a goddamn mess whenever she tried to talk to him. It was more than a little humiliating, truth be told.

                Ulysses looked sceptical, but mercifully did not press the issue. Still, when he turned his gaze back over the ruins of Hopeville, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. She _wanted_ him to look at her, after all; just… when she was doing something cool and sexy, like, oh, headshotting Deathclaws in a lacy negligee or the like, not tripping over her tongue like some awkward preteen.

                She sat down next to him, as always, and he shifted to make room for her. She kept as close as she dared; close enough that she could’ve just reached out and touched him, if that wouldn’t be, y’know, _weird_. His arms, powerfully muscled, were a bare foot from hers; she had the sudden urge to reach out and trace the intricate tribal scars on them with her fingertips and _Jesus Christ woman stop acting like such a creeper._

                God, how did Cass do it? Jane thought back on all the bars they’d passed through, and how her friend rarely seemed to have trouble picking up any burly soldier or strapping caravaneer that caught her eye. Then again, she recalled, Cass’s seduction techniques tended to involve drinking contests and/or flat-out asking men to come upstairs with her, and Jane had the funny feeling that neither of those were applicable to her current situation (because 1. UIysses did not exactly seem like a how-many-whiskey-shots-can-you-down-in-one-minute kind of guy, and 2. there was not enough booze in the whole of Vegas to get her drunk enough to dare the _other_ tactic).

                “Not kiddin’ about the Dam,” she said, acutely aware of his nearness. “Mojave’s buzzin’ like a cazador nest about now. Won’t be long before Legion goes on the march, they reckon.”

                Better just to launch straight into the news with Ulysses, she’d found. He didn’t really _do_ small talk; try bringing up the weather and he’d probably turn it into a philosophical comment about NCR political corruption, or something like that. Not that there was much weather to talk about here, in the first place, beyond ‘Wow, windstorms again? Whoulda thunk it?’ And if she said something like _that_ , she honestly couldn’t blame Ulysses if he kicked her right off the cliff.

                He glanced at her, and nodded.

                “Be an ending to things, one way or another… Killing Caesar won’t have stopped that. Might’ve given some of the Legion pause, but won’t even break the Monster’s stride; make him fiercer, if anything. Others will fall in line behind him, given time. Strange that you would come here, with the Mojave’s fate on such a tipping point.”

                “Though as much,” Jane sighed, pretending not to notice that last point. With all the painful history between them, how the hell could she say she came here to see him? That she had… feelings for him, after everything? No doubt he would think it perverse. “Ain’t ever allowed to be easy, is it?”

                “Never would be easy, destroying a symbol, Courier. You were the one who taught me that, seem to recall.”

                “O-Oh?” She felt her ears redden, much to her annoyance. The hell was wrong with her? It wasn’t even a _compliment_ , exactly. God, she really was desperate. “Well, uh… Nice to be remembered.”

                Ulysses cocked an eyebrow at her.

                “Hard to forget, Courier… you _or_ the message you brought me.”

                _Shit shit fuck fuck fuck_. His deep voice caressed her ears. She felt the heat spread across her cheeks and prayed to every god she’d heard of that he wouldn’t notice. She knew damn well he didn’t mean that like she wished he meant it, and yet…

                “Y’know,” Jane forced her mouth into a smile and tilted the brim of her hat just a touch downwards, the better to hide her blushing face. _Stay frosty, Jane. Act normal, fer chrissakes_. “I been called a lot of things over the years, but ‘forgettable’ ain’t one of ‘em.”

                Ulysses snorted, and Jane felt a small surge of triumph, deep inside. That might be the closest to a laugh she’d ever get out of him; if so, she’d take it.

                “Not one to touch the wasteland lightly, true enough,” he agreed. “Leave deep tracks, wherever you go. Changes you bring… people will remember them.”

                Okay, her heart definitely fluttered on that one.

                He rested one arm on his knee as he sat. He had strong-looking hands, she thought idly, and long fingers; she couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel against her skin. Hard with callus, she reckoned, from the life he’d led. What she wouldn’t give to take that hand in hers, feel him squeeze it back and know that he took comfort in her presence as she did in his…

                Okay, perhaps that wasn’t a good thing to think about; her face only grew warmer. She took off her hat and made a poor attempt to fan herself with it, but the still, dry air, sheltered by the rock face from the howling winds, provided little respite.

                “Uh, thanks, Ulysses. I think.”

                He glanced at her. If he took in her reddened face, he made no comment.

                “Need no thanks for the truth, Courier.”

                “Gonna give it anyway, my man.” Jane looked askance at the man beside her. “You, uh, mind if I talk at you for a bit? Got some things need gettin’ off my chest.”

                “Won’t stop you.” He gave a half-shrug.

                “‘Preciate it. Thing is…” She stared down at her hands. Not her usual way, to be candid about her thoughts, but Ulysses was a surprisingly good listener. He _understood_ things, in a way that very few people she knew did. Plus, he had some pretty clever insights, and he never sugar-coated anything. “Hell, I gotta be honest with you: all this talk of the Wall and the Monster’s got me worried.”

                “Not surprising.” He regarded her evenly. “No small task, to wrest the future of the Mojave from the jaws of the Bull, fight a living legend for it… be a fool, not to recognise that.”

                “Yeah. Never would’ve thought I’d get caught up in something this big, y’know, back before all this went down,” Jane tapped the bullet scars on her temple. “Didn’t know about the Divide back then, course. Still have trouble wrappin’ my head around the whole thing, to be honest. The Mojave’s future, in my hands… it’s a hell of a lot to take in, Ulysses.” She sighed, and straightened her back. “You’ve seen me fight, right? Against the Marked Men? You know more ‘bout Lanius than I do. What do you think; reckon I can take him?”

                Ulysses mulled it over, his brow furrowed.

                “Would depend on the battle,” he said, finally. “Lanius… ‘Butcher’… name fits him. Carries a great blade, like some of the Marked Men do in imitation, but better work; forged by Caesar’s best smiths, not twisted metal and hate. Heard it said that he’s cleaved men in half with it. Better chance fighting a Deathclaw face-to-face than the Monster of the East.”

                “Well, never been fond of goin’ toe-to-toe, myself.” Jane patted the rifle beside her, and Ulysses nodded.

                “Noticed that. Good aim… saw you take the heads off cloaked Marked Men. Get Lanius at a distance, might be able to slay the beast before he reaches you. Closer in… better hope you’re quick on the draw.”

                “You think I got good aim?” Jane’s face brightened, her eyes gleaming eagerly at his praise. Ulysses looked more than a little taken aback.

                “Fishing for compliments, Courier? You’ve walked the Mojave long enough; shouldn’t need _me_ to tell you your strengths.”

                _Yeah,_ down _, girl. Try to be a bit less obvious, will ya?_

                “Well, uh, y’know,” she backpedalled, grinning nervously. “Couldn’t hurt, could it? Ha.” She hoped that she put the right amount of levity into it, didn’t seem _too_ unnatural. She even got halfway into a playful elbow in his side before thinking better of it. No good; he was still staring at her. “I mean, compliment from a man like you… well, it _means_ somethin’, right? You ain’t exactly the type to go sayin’ things you don’t mean just to butter someone up.”

                There. That sounded reasonable, at least.

                He was quiet for a time, his piercing eyes searching her face, trying to discern her motives. Jane struggled not to squirm under his gaze, her heart hammering in her chest. Sometimes, she wondered how the hell he hadn’t figured it out before now; but then again, maybe the idea of her carrying a torch for him was just so mad that it hadn’t even crossed his mind.

                “More hollow words in Vegas than lights on the Strip,” he agreed at last. “City’s a shining beacon to those who care for nothing but their own gain, words flowing free without conviction, without _meaning_.”

                Deflected successfully, it looked like. She could’ve sighed in relief, if that wouldn’t have given the jig up. Still, there was something more she needed to ask.

                She peered at him, watching his face carefully, hesitant to give voice to the question that had been on her mind since she’d first discussed Hoover Dam here with him, what felt like so long ago.

                “You ain’t… angry, or anything? That I’m plannin’ on takin’ down the Legion at the Dam, I mean. I know you still got some lingerin’… attachments.” She chewed through the word, discomfort clear on her face. Much as she cared for him, Ulysses’ stubborn traces of loyalty to the Legion never did sit well with her.

                Ulysses gave her a long look.

                “Asked me the same, about killing Caesar. What I think… what does it matter to you, Courier?” His voice was slow, curious; she felt her pulse rate rise again, and struggled to keep her cool.

                “Okay, thing is…” she fidgeted. “Look, would you believe I respect your opinion?” Better to be a bit more open on this one, she decided; much as she feared him finding out how she felt, she didn’t like to be _too_ dishonest with him. “Means a lot, you decidin’ to… not try killin’ me, and all, don’t want to jeopardise that. Wouldn’t stop me from fightin’ the Legion, mind; they got it comin’ and then some. But I like to know where we stand.”

                He kept up the stare for several moments longer, and then nodded slowly.

                “That’s… fair. No, won’t hold the Dam against you, Courier. Let the Bull be tried by its own philosophy… Lacks strength enough to best the Bear, then it deserves to fall; be a hypocrite to complain. Let history decide which flag remains.”

                Jane scanned his face, the minutiae of his expression, before nodding herself, bony shoulders slumping in relief.

                “Fair enough, prob’ly the best I can expect. Thanks for hearin’ me out, man. On a lighter note-” She changed the topic gladly, turning to rummage through her pack. “Got some stuff for you.” She produced a couple of hessian-wrapped bundles, thrusting them at Ulysses. He accepted them with a look of mild surprise, unwrapping them atop the rocks. One contained food from the Mojave – cactus fruits, various jerkies, and such – and the other RadAway and bottles of clean water. Jane watched him carefully as he examined the contents, hoping to see some spark of gratitude, some sign that she’d managed to win his favour or brighten his day, but his face gave no clues away. He turned back to her, eyebrows raised.

                “Bringing me gifts, Courier?” There was a note of disbelief lurking in his voice.

                “Yep!” she replied perhaps a little too enthusiastically, grabbing a bottle of water and tossed it to him. He caught it deftly, still looking bemused. “Reckon you ain’t had a fresh meal in ages, for one. And hell, with you insistin’ on stayin’ in this rad-soaked hellhole, _someone’s_ gotta think of your wellbein’.”

                “That ‘someone’ being you?”

                Ulysses nudged down his breathing mask and unscrewed the bottle; Jane tried her damndest not to stare. It was her first time seeing him without the damn thing, and boy, she was not disappointed. Perhaps it wasn’t the slick kind of handsomeness favoured by Chairmen, or the Kings’ pomade and attempts at ‘bad-boy charm,’ but in all honesty she found his look – scruffy stubble and morose expression very much included – vastly preferable anyway. He took a swig of water, the powerful muscles in his neck shifting beneath his skin. A stray droplet trailed down the strong line of his jaw. Jane swallowed hard.

                Goddamn it, she really was hopeless.

                Wordlessly, he passed her the bottle. She took it, trying not to stare at his glistening lips, and for a brief moment, her fingers curled carelessly around his. A fleeting sensation, the barest hint of human warmth, and yet it sent shockwaves right down to her core.

                Jane jerked back as if she’d been stung, heart racing as she ended up in an awkward sprawl on the rocks. Ulysses drew back, surprised. He took in her widened eyes, her flushed cheeks. Silently, he averted his gaze, casting his eyes back down over the ruins below.

                “Have no reason to fear me, Courier,” he said at last. His voice was slow, steady; if she didn’t know better, she could’ve sworn there was a hint of melancholy in it. “Won’t hurt you; not planning on resurrecting the conflict between us. Let it rest here, among the dead.”

                Wait. Hang on. He thought she was _scared_ of him?

                Jane pushed herself back upright, studying Ulysses’ face. His mouth was set firm, his eyes steadfastly looking away.

                “Ulysses,” she rubbed her neck, searching for the words. “I ain’t frightened of you, or anythin’ like that. Just got a bit startled, is all. Not really used to bein’ so… close, to people.”

                Well, that was true enough. She wasn’t unsociable, by any means, but she had always preferred to keep people at arm’s length. Her friends weren’t really touchy-feely sorts, anyway. To be honest, Ulysses was the first person in a long damn time to whom she actually felt like cuddling up; just her goddamn luck that he was probably also the last person on earth to _want_ to.

                His eyes flicked back to her, giving her a long, searching look before he nodded his head.

                “No,” he admitted. “Wouldn’t come here, if you were _afraid_ … but definitely acting _strange_ , Courier.”

                “I-I am? Got no idea what you’re talkin’ about, man,” she said, a little too emphatically, too shakily. She cursed herself.

                “No.” He gave his head a slow shake, not taking his eyes from hers. “Know what I’m talking about… just don’t know the why of it.” He shifted his weight, leaning in closer to her. She willed herself to remain calm, ignore the fluttering in her chest, the blood pumping in her ears. “Asked me enough questions, first time you walked this road; have a question of my own. What brings you back here, Courier? What do you hope to find?”

                For several long moments, the only sound was the storm winds, screaming far above them. His stare was unrelenting, unblinking; his eyes were rather nice, the colour of Joshua tree branches, some dim awareness at the back of her mind told her. She felt a bit like a rat transfixed by a Nightstalker, holding his gaze, her mind formulating hundreds of possible excuses and finding them all inadequate. Finally, Jane sighed and broke eye contact, nervously smoothing back a few errant strands of hair.

                “Ulysses,” she began, gazing out over the ruins of Hopeville. It was easier, if she didn’t look at his face. “You never get lonely up here?”

                She chanced a glance back at him, saw his brow furrow in confusion.

                “Don’t see what-” he began, but broke off when she held up a finger.

                “I mean, I know you ain’t the type to complain, but there ain’t no one here but beasties an’ mad Ghouls. Must be pretty tough on a man like you, havin’ nobody to argue with.”

                “Used to it,” Ulysses replied with a half-shrug, still looking uncertainly at her. “Walk lonely roads, as a courier… you should know that as well as I.”

                “Don’t have to be lonely,” Jane said, and then cringed at her own corniness. It was too late; the words were out of her mouth and Ulysses was looking at her in abject surprise. “I mean, y’see, I-” she babbled, her face burning; out of words, out of excuses. She shook her head in frustration, feeling ridiculous in front of him. “Forget it. Shouldn’t have come.”

                She’d turned away and half pulled herself to her knees when a hand shot out and landed on hers, pinning it down. Looking back in surprise, Ulysses watching her intently. Jesus, he was strong… fast, too; it was a damn good thing they’d never actually battled.

                “Don’t run from this, Courier,” he said firmly, his eyes searching her face. She turned her head aside irritably, heart racing in her chest. He leaned over, an impatient furrow creasing his brow, trying to catch her eye, but she evaded him each attempt he made. His hand felt like a leaden weight atop hers – that is, if leaden weights were warm, and made you ache to twine your fingers with theirs… Okay, maybe it wasn’t all that much like a leaden weight, really.

                He took in her flushed cheeks, the slight tremble of her hand beneath his, and finally, _finally_ , realisation dawned. His eyes were as wide as she’d ever seen them.

                “Why you came back,” he said slowly, hesitantly, as if he didn’t quite believe it himself. “Again and again, why you worry about me, bring me gifts… why my thoughts matter to you. You… _care_ for me, Courier.”

                It wasn’t a question; it didn’t need to be. Slowly, she nodded, still avoiding his eyes.

                Ulysses was silent. The hand atop hers relaxed its grip, as if he had forgotten until now that he still held it there. Even so, she did not move; didn’t even snatch it away. Too late, she thought, for any of that. He knows, now; too late to run. She felt exposed before him, worse than naked, left with her shameful heart bared and an ugly twisting in her gut. Some cooler, more rational corner of her brain was quickly tallying the possibilities. Would he want her to leave him alone? Given their history, it would hardly be surprising if her feelings made him uncomfortable. She couldn’t bear to look at his face.

                “…Why?” It seemed like an age before he spoke again. “All the history between us, the history of this place… what reason could you have to feel this way?” His brow was knitted in confusion, but there was no scowl, no sign of anger on his face.

                “Because you understand,” Jane said helplessly, meeting his eyes at last. “Ain’t nobody else in the Mojave sees things the way you do, Ulysses. Seem to get what I’m sayin’, whether you agree with it or not. Ain’t many people do. Ain’t many people I could say anythin’ to, and they’d really _get_ it, y’know. ‘Sides,” she gave him a crooked smile that she couldn’t get to reach her eyes. “Never gets borin’, speakin’ to you, even if sometimes you’re madder ‘n a mole rat on Mentats.”

                Ulysses offered no response; just kept looking at her, dumbfounded. She shot him a last, sad smile, before clambering to her knees and reaching over to grab her gear. “Don’t worry, man,” she assured him, with all the calmness she could muster, given the situation. “Ain’t gonna overstep no bounds, or nothin’.”

                “Where are you going, Courier?” She heard the puzzlement in his voice, heard him move behind her back.

                “Returnin’ to the Mojave.” Jane grabbed her rifle, checked to make sure none of the Divide’s omnipresent dust had gotten into the receiver. No? Good. “As I said, ain’t gonna outstay my welcome. Don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or none.”

                “No need for you to leave.”

Jane hesitated. She’d never heard him try to convince her to stay, before; he’d always seemed unhappily indifferent to her comings and goings. She whipped her head around to see him watching her, an intent look on his face.

                “‘Uncomfortable?’” he echoed. “Things I’ve seen, Courier… couldn’t make me _uncomfortable_ if you tried.”

                “O-Oh?” Ah, shit. There was that burning sensation on her face again. She tried to compensate with a heaping serve of bravado. “That sounds mighty like a challenge, my man.”

                Ulysses shrugged.

                “Take it that way, means anything to you.” Still watching him with narrowed eyes, Jane replaced her gun slowly. “Be disappointed, though, if you expect flowers.”

                “Ulysses,” she scoffed. “No one sane would ever expect _flowers_ from you.” She scooted back next to him, emboldened by his lack of outright rejection. She even dared to sit a little bit closer, now; barely an inch away from touching him. Ulysses snorted.

                “Not known for sanity yourself, Courier.” His eyes were half-lidded, his shoulders… well, still tense, but no more so than usual. He did not seem unduly bothered by her proximity.

                “True enough,” she conceded. “Been told that one too many times to deny it.” Speaking of his shoulders… they looked strong and sturdy, powerful muscles rippling every time he shifted (seriously, thank God for sleeveless jackets). There was something she’d always wanted to try…

                Jane took a deep breath and leant to one side, resting her head on Ulysses’s shoulder. He stiffened for a split second, before allowing himself to relax; she guessed it had been quite a while since he last felt a friendly touch. Well, that made two of them.

                Nevertheless, he made no move to push her away. Nor did he embrace her in kind, but he did move his arm slightly, so that it supported her back – a small gesture, but one that made her heart sing. His skin was warm beneath her cheek, and she felt his body move almost imperceptibly with every breath, felt the strength of his arm behind her. It was… comforting, more so than anything she’d experienced in a long damn time. They sat there in silence, she unwilling to move and he at the very least tolerating her attentions, and watched the dust-choked sky turn from flaming orange to bloody crimson and finally to deep night. For the first time since she’d been dragged from that shallow grave with two bullets in her brain, Jane forgot all about the Dam.


End file.
